


constellations reveal themselves, one star at time

by bucketofrice



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, all's well that ends well, plenty of fluff too, surprisingly angsty for a family fic?, virtue/moir fam bam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 06:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15600441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketofrice/pseuds/bucketofrice
Summary: “How lucky are we that everyone adored one another and we just cherish that time together? We have such support from the Moirs. They’re my family, too.”// Five times Tessa Virtue realized the Moirs were already her family, and the one time Scott did.





	constellations reveal themselves, one star at time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nats_North_by_North](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nats_North_by_North/gifts).



> So TYI happened, then that article happened, then Tessa said the Moirs are her family too, and well ... here we are now.
> 
> Dedicated to [Nats_North_By_North](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nats_North_by_North) and some other lovely people who (very lovingly) pressured me into writing this.
> 
> Parts i. through v. are from Tessa's POV, + i. is Scott's POV.
> 
> Title is "Bobcaygeon" by The Tragically Hip, because Canada and small towns in Ontario :')

**_i._ **

Tessa is six when she meets Scott, seven when they start competing together, and eight when she first experiences the wonders of an Alma Moir hug and cup of hot chocolate. 

But it’s when she’s nine and has just made her biggest life decision to date that she realizes for the first time just how much Alma cares for her.

It’s late September and the leaves on the trees are already steadily changing colour. The new school year has started up again, and so has the new skating season. She and Scott finished their lesson ten minutes ago, and she’s sitting with her skate bag on a bench close to the boards, idly swinging her legs to and fro. 

A month ago, she got home from ballet class to her mother sitting at the kitchen island with a crisp white envelope, embossed in the corner with a logo she knows she’ll always recognize from miles away. 

The School of the National Ballet of Canada.

She knew it, right then and there. This was going to be the moment she made a decision that would impact her life forever. She had a choice: ballet, or skating with Scott. In the end, her competitive nature won out, and her mom hugged her tight before filing the envelope away, never to be seen again.

It’s not like Tessa regrets her decision, not at all. She loves skating, loves the feeling of her blade against the ice, loves holding Scott’s hand and going as fast as she can.

(She likes jumping too, likes knowing that she can learn something just as quick as Scott can — if not quicker — but she doesn’t know if singles is something she wants to stick with or just do for fun.)

She loves skating but she loved dancing first, and sometimes she wonders what her life would be like if she were in Toronto right now, in classes at the National, learning from the best and on track to be a part of the corps de ballet someday.

She’s deep in thought when she feels someone sit down on the bench next to her. Tessa turns her head and looks over to see Alma, a warm smile on her face.

“Is no one here to pick you up yet?”

“Mom said she was going to be late today, so she said I should wait for her here.” Tessa pulls the strap of her skate bag closer, as if to indicate that she’s packed and ready to go.

“I see,” Alma says, taking in Tessa’s resigned expression and cluing in on the fact that it’s not just there because Kate is going to be late this afternoon. “Mind if I sit with you for a while?”

Tessa nods and fixes her eyes on some spot on the wall that suddenly seems like the most interesting thing in the whole ice rink. Alma just sits there with her, not talking, and Tessa finds that she likes the calm presence that Scott’s mom provides.

It’s probably why she does start talking after a little while, the words coming out far too fast and just a little bit jumbled.

She tells Alma about the fact that her friend Lisa from ballet camp told her all about their classes at the school over the phone last Sunday, about the fact that she sometimes lies in bed at night and wonders what she’d be doing now if she’d made a different decision.

She tells Alma that she and Scott are getting better at talking now that they’re no longer ‘dating’ (though she’s not quite sure they did that the right way in the first place) but that she still sometimes feels like he’s so much louder and more outgoing than she is.

Alma nods and listens intently and Tessa feels, not for the first time, a sense of gratitude for her presence. Somehow, Alma always knows just what to say or do when Tessa needs an open ear. She knows Scott, which helps, because as much as her own mother provides the same sense of comfort, Kate doesn’t know Scott like she does. Like Alma does.

Alma wraps an arm around Tessa and pulls her gently into her side, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Sweetheart, I know it’s tough sometimes. But you made the decision that felt right to you right here,” she taps Tessa’s heart, “and that’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” Tessa murmurs, and burrows herself a little further into Alma’s embrace.

Kate rounds the corner just then, her eyes a mix of confusion and worry at the scene that greets her. Alma is quick to get up and reassure Kate that everything’s quite alright, and Tessa’s not hurt.

Tessa walks over to her mother and tucks herself into her side, her skate bag dragging across the floor behind her. The two women share a look, but Tessa’s to preoccupied to notice.

A week later, Kate drops Tessa off at the Moirs’ so Alma can drive them down to Kitchener-Waterloo for a competition. 

Scott comes bounding out of his house, all excited and clutching a giant gift bag. Tessa can hear Joe shouting “Come back in and put your bowl in the dishwasher!” from inside, but Scott doesn’t look like he cares. Instead, he makes a beeline for Tessa, a huge grin on his face.

“Tutu!” he says, breathless, when he reaches her. “This is for you!”

Inside the bag is a big green Marvin the Martian pillow. Scott says she can use it to sleep on long car rides, like the one they’re about to go on. She pulls it out of the bag gingerly and clutches it to her chest.

“Thank you, Scott.”

When Alma hurries outside a few minutes later, Tessa catches her before she gets into the car. “Thank you,” she says. Alma looks from Tessa to the pillow and back up again, and smiles.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

 

**_ii._ **

A week before Tessa and Scott are set to drive down to Canton and start training with Marina and Igor, a very particular series of events occurs.

First, and this she hears only through the ever-reliable Moir family grapevine (well, really, it’s Cara, but she knows more gossip than the next five people combined), Danny and Charlie grab Scott and sit him down on the sofa in the basement.

_Apparently —_ and this Cara tells her in hushed tones as they’re sitting on the fence by the ice rink, holding popsicles that are half-dripping down their arms, their legs dangling off the bars — they sat him down and gave him some kind of lecture.

Cara says it took over half an hour, and that Scott came out of the basement looking like they’d given him _the talk_ all over again.

“Why would they do that to him?” Tessa asks, shuddering at the thought of going through _that_ particular experience for a second time.

Kate Virtue’s version of _the talk_ had been anatomically correct, complete with diagrams and books and god forbid, _instruction manuals_ and Tessa is sure as hell that she never, ever wants to have that conversation again.

She must look sufficiently petrified because Cara bursts out into laughter at the sight. “I’m sure they didn’t give him _that_ talk, Tess, relax.”

Their popsicles have once again reached a precarious state, and they quickly work to make sure the sticky liquid doesn’t drip all over their shorts-clad legs. The sun is far too hot today, and they know everything would stick together immediately if they let the popsicles melt too much.

Once they’re in the clear again, Cara looks over at Tessa.

“Aren’t you just beyond excited to live in the States?” she asks. Cara is the type of person who gets excited about the fact that Tessa will soon have a better mall to go to and better TV to watch than she does in Ontario, and she could talk about the two ad nauseam if she wished.

But — and Tessa’s currently quite grateful for this fact — she’s also perceptive enough to realize that Tessa’s currently worrying about bigger things than whether or not Canton’s mall has a _Claire’s_.

“You’re nervous,” Cara says, and it’s true.

Tessa is pretty damn petrified of it all. In Kitchener-Waterloo, they’d had Suzanne and Paul, who were basically like an aunt and uncle to them both. They’d been such kind and caring coaches, and they probably would’ve stayed with them forever, if they hadn’t realized there was a chance they could achieve more.

Tessa remembers the trip she and Scott and Alma and Kate had taken down to Canton a few months back, when they’d first met Marina and Igor. The arena had been massive, and somehow colder than she was used to. Marina and Igor had been colder too.

They were definitely willing to help her and Scott learn and grow, but Suzanne’s warm nature was not something she saw in her two new Russian coaches. She remembers squeezing Scott’s hand extra tight that day, as if to signal _if we do this, we’ve only really got each other._

Now, sitting on the fence with Cara, she picks at her popsicle stick and frowns.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, focusing intently on a tiny split in the wood.

“Hey,” Cara says, “You’re gonna do such great things down there, I know it. You and Scott, you’re special. I know I tease the two of you like, all the time, but I mean it.”

Tessa turns her head and smiles shyly at Cara. “Thanks.”

They sit there for a bit longer, their legs dangling off the fence as the wind picks up and the sun starts to set. Tessa does actually end up talking with Cara about all the TV shows she’ll be able to watch in the States, because truth be told, she is a _little bit_ excited for that too.

“Hey Big Hands!”

Charlie’s voice is loud enough to be heard all the way from the Moir driveway, and Tessa turns to see Scott’s brother, beckoning her with a raised hand.

She looks at Cara in confusion and is met with an equally puzzled look. Eventually, she hops off the fence and sets off for the house, following Charlie through the open door.

She’s led down to the basement, where Danny’s waiting and _oh no_ , they’re gonna have _the talk_ with her too, aren’t they?

“Sit down, T,” Danny says. He looks way too happy to be doing this. Tessa does as told and plops down on the couch with a defiant huff.

“My mom gave me the talk two years ago. I don’t need it again.” She decides to get this over with as quickly as she possibly can, to spare all of them the embarrassment. It seems she only heightens it though, because both Charlie and Danny look at her with a mix of mortification and utter confusion.

“Oh my god, no! _Not_ what we were going for.” She can hear the haste in Danny’s voice. “God, no, I don’t even wanna _think_ about talking to you about that, Tess, you’re like my kid sister.”

“Agreed, gross,” Charlie chimes in, nodding his head furiously.

“We _wanted_ to tell you that we know it’s gonna be hard, so far away from home with Scott,” Danny says, and they seem to be back on track now. “We basically wanted to say we told him that he’s got responsibility for the two of you when you’re down there, and that he needs to know what that means.”

“Yep,” Charlie echoes. “So this is our formal statement. We told Scott he has to behave when he’s down there, and take care of you like mom asked. And we’re telling _you_ that you have our permission to kick his ass on our behalf, or to call us to ask us to do it for you.”

“Oh and for the record,” Danny says, a twinkle in his eye. “Assume that we’ll take your side in any argument from here on out. Got it, T?”

“Got it.”

 

**_iii._ **

There are only about thirty metres, give or take, between the mixed zone and the area where both their families have been asked to gather following the flower ceremony in Vancouver. 

Thirty metres, as well as a throng of volunteers and officials, hordes of reporters and other skaters and coaches. 

Those thirty metres may as well be thirty thousand kilometres at this rate.

She’s been practically buzzing since they announced their scores in the Kiss and Cry, since Scott shot up like a bullet and pulled her right up with him, since he joked about coming second in the mixed zone, since she’d received a genuine hug from Meryl Davis (miracles still happen, apparently), since she’d stood on a podium right by his side and belted out _O Canada_ at the top of her lungs.

She’s now the proud owner of an Olympic gold medal, and she cannot scarcely believe it. _They actually did it! She and Scott actually won the Olympics!_

She feels like she’s floating on air, and even the always-present ache in her shins seems to subside for a few precious minutes. It’s almost like this medal is making all her troubles disappear, even if only for a little while.

In the back of her mind she knows that there’s a physio table and ice packs awaiting her in her room after she comes back from Canada House that night, knows that she still hasn’t properly dealt with all her feelings regarding Joannie, knows there are feelings regarding Scott she hasn’t even bothered to unpack in the first place.

But for now, well for now she gets to be unabashedly happy and enjoy the fact that they won the fucking Olympics! In their own country!

The next half hour is a whirlwind — media, barely any time to get their skates and costumes off, a debrief with Marina and Igor, a little more media, and then finally, finally someone from Skate Canada leads them those thirty metres further down the hallway into the room where their families are waiting.

As soon as the door opens, it’s all a blur. 

Virtues are hugging Virtues, Moirs are hugging Moirs and then it’s a grab bag. Tessa hugs her mother, her father, her sister, her brothers. Then it’s on to Alma, and Joe, Danny and Charlie and all the rest of them.

Pretty soon, the room has dissolved into a blur of hugs and tears and congratulations and Tessa’s fairly certain she hasn’t ever felt this much love in one place at one time. It’s absolutely overwhelming, in the very best way. 

Their reverie is cut short when another Skate Canada official pops in, looking appropriately apologetic, and comes to whisk her and Scott away to yet another media appearance.

She steals one last glance at the room before she leaves, taking in all the teary-eyed faces and feeling so loved that she thinks her heart might burst with it.

A few hours later, the bubble pops (somewhat) and she’s back in reality.

Reality being her now-single-occupancy room in the village, a nice assortment of ice packs on her shins and strict instructions not to drink any alcohol lest she mess with the pain meds she took an hour ago.

Tessa sighs as she reaches for the remote and idly flips through the channels on the little television in the room. Nothing is particularly exciting, and she has a fleeting wish for these Olympics to be transported to Japan. There’s always something to watch on the hotel televisions when she’s there.

Since they’re still technically in training, they’ve been graciously granted a bit of flexibility in their diet until the closing ceremonies (they still have Worlds to train for, Marina reminded them at least twice today, so they have to stay in shape). For her, that means half a bar of milk chocolate and a cherry coke.

Scott gets beer and a night out in Canada House.

Typical.

She immediately feels guilty for her thoughts, tries to push them to the back of her mind and focus on the fact that they won and all she should be feeling right now is gratitude. But no matter how hard she tries, it isn’t working. She’s stuck in her room all alone, after all.

A knock on the door gets her out of her funk, and she says a hurried “it’s open, come on in!”

She’s really not sure who to expect at this hour — maybe her mom or Jordan — but it certainly isn’t Alma, who walks into the room with a smile on her face.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, and Tessa forces a smile.

“I’m doing great, really.” It’s a lie. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating with everyone?”

Alma comes over to the edge of the bed and sits down on the corner, facing Tessa. She can see the obvious love and concern in her face, and she plasters on an even brighter smile. Scott’s mother is not supposed to be sad when her son wins the Olympics.

(Hell, _Tessa_ isn’t supposed to be sad when _she_ wins the Olympics, but here they are. The least she can do is make sure everyone else is happy.)

“I know this is hard, dear. You don’t have to put on that brave face of yours all the time.” Alma reaches for Tessa’s hand and squeezes tight, and Tessa feels tears pricking behind her eyelids. Damn it. She’s not going to cry.

“Thank you,” she says instead, quietly, but sincerely.

Alma shoots her a knowing glance before her face breaks out into a conspiratorial smile. “The other reason I’m here is to get away from the hubbub for a little while. Mind if I sit and watch some television with you for a bit?”

Tessa just smiles and shifts on the bed to make a space for Alma to perch beside her.

 

**_iv._ **

She really doesn’t know what propels her to drive to Ilderton at this hour. All she knows is that she can’t bear to be in her parents’ house tonight. Can’t bear to be in her own house either.

It’s too vast and sterile and clinical, after months spent empty.

No, Tessa needs a _home_ tonight.

She drives to Ilderton as if on autopilot, the streets and turns so ingrained in her mind that she thinks she could follow them with her eyes closed. Somehow, Scott’s parents house is her north star, the one thing guiding her tonight.

Her own parents sat her down after dinner, in the formal living room. Kate perched on an ottoman, Jim took the sofa, and Tessa sat there, in an armchair, confused and a little bit scared. 

With good reason, as it turns out, since her parents had kindly informed her they were getting a divorce. And because of training and the season, she just so happened to be the last to know. 

Admittedly, she hadn’t taken it very well — what, with the whole storming out and driving to another city thing — but she feels reasonably confident that her parents, or at least her mother, will cut her some slack for her reaction. For now, she just focusses on the road ahead, and making sure she drives straight with the steady stream of tears quietly rolling down her cheeks.

When she arrives at the Moir house, she doesn’t think twice before knocking at the door, three _tap tap taps_ in rapid succession, followed by a fourth _tap_. It’s been her and Scott’s secret knock for years now.

She tries her best to wipe away the tears from under her eyes before the door opens, knowing full well that it’ll do precious little to help her appearance. Not that she really cares right at this moment.

Joe greets her at the door, bright-eyed and cheery as usual, but his expression turns sombre as he takes in her appearance.

“Is Scott home?” is all she manages to get out before she has to take a deep breath to keep from crying again.

“He’s out with friends, is it urgent?”

She shakes her head no, and wants to kick herself for not even thinking to call or text first. _Of course he wouldn’t have magically expected her._

“Come inside, it’s cold out.”

She follows Joe into the kitchen, grateful for the fact that the Moirs’ door is always open to her. Has been since she was seven, if she’s being honest.

The Moir house has always been homey to her, sometimes more than her own parents’ house. It’s cozy and warm and never too perfectly organized. It’s clear that people _live_ there, and laugh there, and are one big, raucous family here.

She has that too, with her mother and with Jordan (with her brothers as well, when they’re home for visits) — but ever since she’s been away in Canton, something’s been just a little off.

She’d never quite had the time to put her finger on it, to figure out what exactly was going wrong, and now that she knows, she can’t help but feel monumentally stupid for missing it entirely.

And being the last one to know.

That hurts particularly badly.

Joe has been looking over at her, a concerned expression on his face, she realizes as she properly steps foot in the kitchen. He just gestures for her to sit on a stool and she does, setting her elbows on the counter and holding her chin in her hands.

She’s trying really hard not to cry.

Joe doesn’t ask questions, not yet. Instead, he squeezes her shoulder and puts the kettle on. Pretty soon, there’s a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the kitchen island in front of her, and Joe is holding a matching one as he’s leaning back on a cupboard.

“Tell me, what brings you to our neck of the woods this late?”

He’s looking at her with such concern and genuine care in his eyes that she can’t keep it in anymore. The tears come full force: big, wracking, full-bodied sobs she can’t keep in anymore. She can’t remember the last time she cried like this. 

It definitely wasn’t in the lead-up or aftermath of either of her surgeries.

Joe’s at her side in an instant, sitting down on the stool next to her, a comforting hand on her back, moving it up and down and trying to calm her as best she can.

When she finally manages to choke it out — her parents are divorcing, their marriage is over and she had no idea, not really — Joe pulls her in for a hug. ( _Deep down, she knows she had some kind of inclination, but it got pushed to the back of her mind as soon as Marina announced a new set of practice drills, at the very latest. It hurts her to think she missed this, this_ monumental _thing._ )

It’s such a relief, she thinks, to have someone here who’s just _there_ , with hot chocolate and a hug and no expectations whatsoever. She lets herself cry for good, long while, safe in Joe and Alma’s kitchen, and when she has no tears left to shed, Joe presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

He hands her a box of tissues and she accepts them gratefully, wiping at her eyes and blowing her nose. She’s about to apologize for turning up at his and Alma’s house in the middle of the night — she’s still a well-mannered Virtue through and through — but Joe’s having none of it.

“Tess, you’re like a daughter to Alma and me. And no child of mine cries their heart out alone, without someone there to listen and try to make it better. Alright?”

He’s so matter-of-fact about it that she can’t do anything but nod and mouth _thank you_ before taking a sip of her now-cold hot chocolate.

She and Joe stay up for a bit, chatting in the kitchen, reminiscing about Tessa as a little kid, when she and Scott so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to take on the world.

She doesn’t often feel like that anymore.

Scott comes back home an hour later; he looks confused as he steps into the kitchen.

“Tessa’s staying in the guest bedroom tonight,” Joe says. “You two will have plenty of time to talk in the morning.”

 

**_v._ **

She never thought a Moir family barbecue could be this level of awkward. And yet, in the summer of 2014, Tessa wishes she could just vanish into thin air, right from where she’s standing in the corner by the table full of condiments and hot dog buns and potato salad.

God, why she even accepted the invitation to attend this in the first place is beyond her.

Scott is in a corner with Kaitlyn, talking, and sometimes _not talking_ , and every once in a while, one of them looks over and she has to plaster on this weird fake smile thing to appease their inquisitive glances. It’s funny, because she should be used to it, with all the media she’s done in her life, and the damn reality TV show — not much of a documentary, that one was — they filmed less than a year ago.

But somehow, it just feels wrong to be giving him the same treatment she gives all the journalists who’ve asked all those _lovely_ (read: not so lovely) questions over the years.

Even when she objectively cannot stand him, Tessa can’t bear lying to Scott. Not that she’d be any good at it if she tried. It’s just that seeing him with Kaitlyn, seeing him _happy_ with Kaitlyn, does things to her insides that she’d rather not admit — or examine further.

She likes Kaitlyn, really does. She’s laid-back, sweet and funny and outgoing and exactly the type of person who Scott Moir, beer and hockey-loving, country music-singing, family-oriented boy from Ilderton, should end up with. Which, coincidentally, is the whole reason Tessa really can’t stand Kaitlyn, though she’s not about to admit it to herself any time soon.

At the same time, she has to be thankful for Kaitlyn, because she was one of the people to get Scott out of the hole he dug himself and fell into after the Olympics. For that, she’ll be eternally grateful.

But beyond that … well, it’s over 30 degrees outside and Tessa isn’t feeling particularly charitable this afternoon, so all thoughts of thankfulness are on the back burner for the time being. She doesn’t even have reinforcements with her for this particular party (her mother is visiting her own sister, Jordan’s in Australia and the boys are off living their own lives) which leaves Tessa as the sole representative of the Virtue clan at the Moir house on this fine August day.

It’s a fate she’ll just have to accept.

One of Scott’s cousins (who exist in a seemingly endless supply) comes over and she makes small talk over the potato salad, discussing the weather and Stars on Ice and her plans for school and possibly doing some fashion work in the future. Scott’s cousin — her name is Shelly, or Cindy, or Susan, she can’t quite remember — is talking animatedly about the holistic pre-natal class she’s taking with her husband.

Tessa feels, not for the first time, that she’s gone about life in such a mixed up order. Here’s a woman, not two years older than her, with a husband and a baby on the way. And Tessa? She’s 25 and trying desperately to regain some semblance of normal — to live the university days she never had, to figure out who she is as a person.

Without competitive ice dance.

Without Scott.

It’s a weird thing, if she thinks about it, that she’s 25 and doesn’t really know who she is outside of this one person, and this one thing they’ve done nearly all their lives. Ice dancing. It’s objectively speaking a very strange sport to devote ones livelihood to.

To move to another country for. To stay on a strict, regimented diet for. To have surgeries for. To be scrutinized every day for.

And still, they lost in the end. Tough luck, 16, going on 17 years of hard work down the drain.

“Tessa?” 

“Oh, sorry.” She excuses herself from Scott’s nameless cousin, says she has to go to the washroom. In reality, she just wants to hightail it out of this backyard and drive home to London.

She nearly makes it to the back porch to say goodbye to Alma and Joe — even when overwhelmed and frustrated, Tessa is still a Virtue and _Virtues have manners, dear_ — but she’s gently ambushed by a very excited Danny, beer bottle in hand.

“T-Bone!” He pulls her in for a hug and Tessa can’t help but smile. She’s so fond of Danny and Charlie, but they live far away and she doesn’t get to see them nearly as much as she’d like to. 

“How are summer classes going?”

Leave it to Danny to know what’s going on in her life and be able to make her feel better in an instant. She falls into easy banter with him, and pretty soon Charlie’s there too, joining in. Tessa sometimes feels like she’s got four brothers instead of two _(Scott is_ not _her brother, thank you very much, he’s … something else to her that she chooses not to define)_ and she’s so grateful for them.

All of a sudden, she’s surrounded by Moirs, laughing and talking and catching up with their wives and children. She forgets all about her plan to duck out early and leave, instead choosing to spend time with Scott’s brothers and sisters-in-law.

Danny sets tiny Charlotte on her lap at one point, and the little girl coos up at her.

“It’s Auntie Tess, bug. Look!”

She finds herself tearing up at that, and looks over to Danny for confirmation. “Really?” she mouths.

“Kid, you’re part of the family. You’re stuck with us for the long haul, ice dance or not.”

Danny squeezes her shoulder and Charlotte laughs.

Maybe Moir family barbecues aren’t so bad after all.

 

**_\+ i._ **

Scott really shouldn’t be as nervous about this as he is.  
****

His family has known Tessa for just as long as he has, they’ve watched her grow up and change into the beautiful, strong, extraordinary woman she is today. They’ve spent countless car rides and dinners and flights to competitions and holidays with her.

They _know_ her. They love her.

This is gonna be great.

“You alright?”

Scott is shocked out of his momentary daze by the feeling of Tessa’s small hand on his thigh, placed reassuringly as she looks over at him from the passenger seat. They’re driving to Ilderton for Sunday dinner with his family, and it would be like any other Sunday afternoon, except…

Well, except for the fact that this morning he woke up in Tessa’s bed in London, tangled up in her sheets and not wearing one stitch of clothing. Tessa wasn’t wearing any either, and while that seemed awfully convenient at the time, to help speed up _certain activities_ , now it just makes him blush a furious shade of red.

“I’m great, T. Really great.”

The thing is, he really is. Has been for a while now. It’s April, he and Tessa announced their grand, triumphant comeback a little over month ago, and so far, it’s been going swimmingly. Marie-France and Patch are whipping their asses back in shape (his more than hers, if they’re being honest), Montreal is treating them well, and well, they’ve been treating each other better than ever too.

It happened in early January, the proverbial crossing of the last red line between them, and ever since they took that chance, it’s been everything Scott could’ve ever dreamed and more.

Being with Tessa is as natural to him as breathing, as stroking along the ice and finding the edge of his blade. Sure, the transition hasn’t been entirely seamless (what life change ever is?) but it’s been pretty damn close, he thinks.

They’re actively working on this together, _communicating_ and being open with each other, and he thinks it’s been bit like working on a new lift. They’re currently ironing out the kinks but the foundation stands.

He calms down a bit on the short drive to Ilderton, but his nerves are back as he pulls into the driveway of his childhood home. He and Tessa had decided they were far enough into this _expansion_ of their relationship (dating seems like much too simple a term to use) for them to tell their families.

And a Moir family dinner seems like just the place to start.

It had been Tessa’s idea, actually, to tell them all in one fell swoop.

She gives his hand a reassuring squeeze as he rings the doorbell, and he marvels at the fact that she’s somehow much more calm about this whole thing than he is. When the door opens, his mother pulls them into a hug immediately, squeezing them tight and telling them how much she’s missed them.

They’re in the middle of it all in an instant, surrounded by Moirs on all sides, and Scott can’t help but smile. He loves his family more than anything (and equally as much as he loves Tessa, just to set that record straight) and he cherishes every moment he gets to spend with them.

He doesn’t even realize Tessa has already passed the bottle of wine they brought along to his father (they don’t even bother trying to cook anything anymore) and is currently being summoned by Charlotte, who’s yelled “Auntie Tess, look at my new dollies!” from the corner.

Tessa immediately crouches down by his niece and listens intently to her description of the new dolls, while Joe heads to the kitchen to uncork the wine — Tessa picked up his favourite.

It’s only when Danny comes over with two bottles of beer and hands him one, saying “she’s so happy to see her favourite aunt again,” that it all clicks into place.

Why did he bother wasting any time wondering how his family would react to Tessa becoming an official part of it (eventually, there is no ring yet but they both know this is forever) when she’s been a Moir all along?

Hell, they’d nicknamed Danny’s _wife_ Tessa Two, for crying out loud.

He breaks out into the biggest grin when he realizes it, and his chest fills with so much love for her and for his family that he thinks he may burst.

“What’s gotten into you?” Danny jokes, jabbing Scott in the rib.

“I’m just happy, that’s all.”

“Big Hands got any part in that?” Danny gives him a pointed look that’s fifty percent _I will beat you up if you hurt her_ and fifty percent _I’m so happy for you_ and Scott just nods. Yeah, she’s got _every_ part in that.

Right on cue, Tessa looks over at them and Scott smiles at her. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as her own lips quirk up in a smile and she gets up off the ground to walk over to where he’s stood.

She tucks herself into his side and he wraps an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Hi,” she murmurs.

“Hi,” he whispers back, and just laughs at Danny’s face of mock-disgust.

He realizes pretty quick that most of the Moirs in the living room have turned their heads toward their little display in fascination, and he shoots Tessa a glance. She nods, a fraction of a degree and he takes his cue, pressing his lips to hers in the chastest of kisses.

Immediately, the room breaks out into cheers and whoops and plenty of tears and then everyone’s hugging them and it’s all a whirlwind.

Much later, when he brings the last of the dishes back to the kitchen, he catches his mother standing at the sink with a wistful smile on her face. She brightens immediately when he sets down the casserole dish.

She gives him one look, shakes her head and smiles.

“Took you long enough to bring her home for good.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments make my day. Feel free to yell at me there, or on Tumblr, @good-things-come-in-threes, or Twitter, @_bucketofrice.


End file.
